


such is the breath of kings

by kangeiko



Series: Theatre-focused fic [2]
Category: Richard II - Shakespeare
Genre: Gen, M/M, Royal Shakespeare Company, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:02:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangeiko/pseuds/kangeiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Richard's death, the Duke of York visits his son. Set within the 2013 RSC version (where Exton's character is subsumed in the character of Aumerle).</p>
            </blockquote>





	such is the breath of kings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angevin2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angevin2/gifts).



> This is based on the current RSC version (directed by Gregory Doran, with David Tennant as Richard II), where the lines/actions of Exton at the end of the play are given to Aumerle. The relationship between Aumerle and Richard is also clearly romantic, with a long kiss shared by them on the battlements after Richard surrenders to Bolingbroke. This obviously made for a different interpretation of Aumerle's motivation, and of his relationship with his father, given what had transpired.
> 
> Many thanks to skazka for the beta!

> With Cain go wander through shades of night,  
>  And never show thy head by day nor light.
> 
> \- Henry Bolingbroke, _Richard II: Act V, scene vi_

 

 

His knees ached from kneeling overmuch, and his servant had to help him to his feet. By the time he had stood, both the King and his son had departed the Main Hall: one to weep for his cousin, and the other to wash his guilty hands. With a pang, York realised he was not sure which was worse: a faithless son, or a lying King. If the King had ordered this death – and if his son had carried it out in good faith –

But no. Kings did not die like this, with their royal blood washing their chains clean. No, 'twas the work of some darker power that had brought this about.

The coffin remained unattended in the middle of the Hall, surrounded by elder sons. One of them came to him and touched his elbow. "My Lord," said Percy. "What should we do with the remains?"

Oh, that he had died before these days! Surely that would have been a kinder fate: to follow his brothers to the grave, and not witness the passing of such acts of savagery. "Take him to be cleaned," York said. He reached down and touched the grimy forehead of the dead king. "He was our King. He deserves better."

He left poor Richard in Percy's care. They could not do much to him now, that child he had once dandled on his knee and praised and loved. _All flesh is grass_ , York thought, as he made his slow way out of the Hall and towards his chambers. _All flesh is grass, and we merely delay the moment for another day._

Perhaps he had delayed his moment o'erlong. Perhaps an early grave would have been preferable.

Inside, the maids were helping his wife to her chambers: she, too, had collapsed. _What is the matter, woman, can you not see that I am busy?_ He thought, sounding out the words in his head. _Can you not see that I have much to do still, before we may rest? This child that we have raised has turned out ill, and what am I to do? Shall I sit down and weep as you do?_ He took a step towards her.

"My Lord," one of the maids said, stepping into his path and curtsying. "My Lady. She is – indisposed. She requests her privacy."

"Yes," said York, staring at his wife's back as the bedroom doors closed behind her. "That much I see."

So. It was to Aumerle first, then.

He made his slow way to the back chambers, where the boy had been temporarily lodging. Windsor Castle was ill-equipped to deal with this many noblemen all crammed in, and they overlapped each other, families taking up space that staff should by all rights occupy. _Well,_ thought York, as he pressed his hand against his son's chamber door, _this thinning of the herd will help with that, I expect_. _Before too long there will be titles a-plenty to be given out: Gloucester, and Aumerle, and York to follow. Maybe in some future days these corridors will be empty._

He pushed the door open to chaos. His son's servants ran this way and that, packing his meagre belongings. One knelt by the fire and carefully fed it papers one at a time, stirring the ashes every so often. At the centre of it all stood his son, his beautiful boy, clad still in the travelling garb he had worn to drag in his King's remains, reading over the papers his servants brought him. His neck was grimy, his hair long and tangled, and he stank of the road.

 _This is how I will remember him_ , thought York, and the vice around his heart tightened another notch.

Aumerle looked up at him briefly, then looked to his servant. "Leave us."

The activity ceased and all four young lads filed dutifully out, taking nothing with them. The last closed the doors behind him, leaving father and son alone.

York cast about for something to say. "You are departing, then."

His son looked at him sidelong. "I have a day and a night. Not a moment more has King Henry given me to settle my affairs and leave his sight." Aumerle stared down at the papers in his hands. "I expect I should be grateful. Others have been banished with less notice. And a bare few, with less cause."

York gaped. "Less cause? You killed the King!"

Aumerle smiled a little and set the papers back down on his desk. "Well, now, father, I do not believe you may have your way in this. For if Richard was the King, then whyfor was our King at Pomfret? And if he were _not_ the King, but a traitor to be chained and imprisoned – then, no crime have I committed, save that of protecting the Realm."

 _Such folly!_ York shook his head and took a step forward, his hands raised in entreaty. "'Tis not your place, child, to protect this Realm."

Aumerle stepped back and stared at him, eyes wide with mock amazement. "Then whose place is it? Yours?" He laughed. "The King's right hand, the keeper of his trust! Is that what you were doing, father, when you let his banished enemies march through his doors and eat his food and take his crown?"

And there, his crimes cast back in his face. That such old shoulders should bear such responsibility! _Ah, this business of government is one for the young, I think. What would have happened if King Richard had stayed on these shores and kept his castles and his crown? What of Henry Bolingbroke, then?_ He shook his head."The King – the King was led astray. He erred. Bolingbroke-that-was, he was blameless and did not deserve his banishment, nor to have his lawful rights and lands taken from him. He did not deserve to be beggared for capriciousness and convenience!"

"And what did King Richard deserve? If Bolingbroke-that-was broke exile for his rights, where are they now? Why is he not Gloucester, and kneeling at the King's feet, and begging his pardon?" Aumerle shook his head and pick up the papers again, rifling through them restlessly. "No, father, it is you who erred. Subjects may not dictate to princes and subjects still remain."

There was the crux of it. He had let his age rule him: his age, which did not seek a crown nor wish a sceptre, and could not conceive of such a thought in another! What an unnatural thought, to wish to unKing a King! At most, with Bolingbroke restored to King Richard's side, he had thought, perhaps… perhaps the King would have no sons. Perhaps his suspicions of what came between the royal bodies were not as false as he had supposed, and no heirs would ever come.

Perhaps, he had thought, the King could be brought to reason. For if there was no heir, what, then, was Bolingbroke, but next-in-line?

And still, and still. Such impatience in the young! Why had not Bolingbroke waited? Why had not Aumerle? What could have spurred him to such senseless actions? "That as may be, my son, but what of your part in this? Your knife in tender Richard's back? You swear first fealty to him, then to King Henry, and yet betray them both! How could I have raised such a duplicitous child; that my own blood should prove so inconstant?" He drew a shaky breath. "I would have strangled you as a babe, my boy, had I but known what a viper you would grow up to be."

His son smiled, and spread his arms wide. "I learned by your good example, kind father. In your nest, 'tis fealty indeed if convenient; if not, 'tis family blood that triumphs."

"He was your _King_!"

" _And he died as such!_ " Colour suffused Aumerle's face. He turned and threw the papers on the fire, grabbing the poker and savagely stoking the flames so they engulfed the parchment in red flickers. "Betrayed by someone he knew, and bleeding out on the end of a sword – that is a worthy end for princes!" He looked back at York, and there was wetness on his cheeks. "Not the end that Bolingbroke-that-was would have planned for him: poison, perhaps, or the garrotte; or a slow and wasting death, locked away from sight as if he were an unsightly thing."

York drew a shaky breath. His knees felt weak and pained, and he made his way to the desk, leaning heavily against it. "So you think it mercy, this betrayal? A subject's duty?" And yet – was that not what he himself had done? Attended to his King's errors, even if doing so meant a yet greater betrayal?

Aumerle rubbed a hand over his face and turned back to the fire. "A subject's duty. A friend's duty. Familial duty, for he was my cousin."

There was a flare of bitterness at this he could not suppress. "I wager he was more than that."

Aumerle turned to look at him. "You'd best watch your words, old man," he said, very quietly. "My loyalty to my King did not expire with his death."

York looked away. "We are not to be reconciled, then. On this, nor on any point." He gripped the edges of the desk and wondered what he was to do after this. His son gone. His King gone. All his brothers gone. And he, left standing, holding up the crown for someone else.

"No." Aumerle turned to the books he had laid aside and began to sort them.

York wet his lips. "And your mother? What shall I say to her?"

Aumerle looked down at his books and York felt a pain in his heart at the sight of his son so unmanned by grief. "You should lie."

Perhaps it would be for the best. What harm could this small falsehood bring?

He cleared his throat and reached out, his hand on his son's arm. He gripped the familiar flesh, through fabric and leather, and fancied he felt the shape of that small child's arm when his son had flocked to his embrace as a boy. _Such a waste. The old die, and the young die, and yet I linger._ "And you, my son, whom I do not know whether I should love or hate. What should I say to you?"

Aumerle placed his gloved hand over his and gripped it tight. "You should wish me Godspeed, father. I go now to exile, 'til I have my grave. You can find me, after, sat at Judas's knee." He quirked a sad smile. "I wager I shall have plenty of company."

 

*

 

fin


End file.
